


do you love me (lights on)?

by Olive343



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olive343/pseuds/Olive343
Summary: Rebecca Costa-Brown lives alone.





	do you love me (lights on)?

Rebecca Costa-Brown was not an easy woman to work for. She was harsh on secretaries and seemed to consider the need for subordinates a waste of resources, as though she would rather do everything herself.  
  
Such a bullish attitude in a relatively public figure had, naturally, drawn the tabloids like sharks scenting blood, hungry for a taste of some sordid personal life they could use to turn her into some terrible, scorned battle-ax.  
  
She had come out the other side of that, unsurprisingly to anyone who knew her, unscathed. Much to her satisfaction, they had given up within a few weeks after their search for any sort of attachment turned up blank, just as she liked it. Beyond a nice-ish apartment in an upmarket building and a work schedule that would make lesser men weep, there was frustratingly little for them to chew over.  
  
They had briefly proposed an adulterous affair after finding out that she was conversational with Raymond, the doorman to her building, but had dropped that after finding that he was happily married to another man who had promptly threatened to sue.  
  
The truth, though, was that she could simply work for longer and with greater focus, and on less sleep, than an ordinary human. It had been invaluable during the years she had spent forging the PRT into a semi-functional operation, and it still served her now, when she was needed to pilot the often-labyrinthine bureaucratic nightmare she had created with any sort of expedience.  
  
And while there was certainly a degree of satisfaction in her work; in seeing the positive effect that they managed to have despite everything, some of the realities of having such a high-profile public identity could not be avoided. The obvious concern was that she needed to put no small amount of effort into acting human because, of course, parahumans couldn't serve in the PRT.  
  
That was easy enough, and she had come to grips with much of that; she didn't fly, didn't club people she disliked over the head with her desk, and managed to keep her true speed of thought entirely to herself.  
  
The most infuriating though was probably what that imposed on her travel. She couldn't just fly home, obviously, and she couldn't call for a door even to skip a tedious elevator, because god only knew who might pop out and catch her doing that. So instead she rode down in the mostly empty lift in the dead of night and, depending on the state of her incipient headache, either called for a taxi or walked.  
  
Tonight she was in the back of a taxi, trying - and failing- to focus on the coming week. An Endbringer attack was becoming increasingly likely, most likely sometime within the next fortnight, and measures would have to be taken depending on if it decided to appear within the United States or elsewhere, as well as to mitigate the chaos that would ensue when she had to disappear for half a day on zero notice. Then there was an influx of new personnel at the local branch that would need final vetting before they received approval. And, just to top it off, one of the regional directors had been served with charges for child molestation, so she would need to figure out how best to drop him directly into the thick of that particular mess.  
  
And  _then_  there would also be whatever work Cauldron slid across her plate as on top of all that.  
  
Joy.  
  
She let her head droop until it pressed softly against the window and her eyes slid shut, propping up a thin barrier against the lensing of city lights piercing through the rain.  
  
She tipped the driver when they pulled up outside her building, then dashed from the safety of the car into the warmth of the lobby, light spilling through the glass frontage and out into the street. After that it was just another lonely, interminable ride up to her floor. The sound of the key sliding home in the lock was music to her ears, and she slipped inside, almost collapsing against the door as soon as it was locked again.  
  
The sound she made after toeing her shoes off was obscene, and graduated into a cracking yawn about halfway through. It was a blessed relief when she was finally able to pick herself off the ground and drift down towards the kitchen, the lights inside flickering grumpily to life as she came into the room. Right away she noted the dirty plate sitting in the sink, the only mess in the otherwise pristine kitchen. She checked the warmth of the plate, her mood lifting at the lingering warmth beneath her fingers, and she quickly put something together for herself.  
  
She ate quickly, pouring out two glasses of water before heading deeper into the apartment, unable to keep her lips from quirking into a grin as she imagined the sight awaiting her in the bedroom.  
  
Contessa, unseen terror of the parahuman world, lying unresponsive and half dressed atop the sheets. For anybody else, it would be a pathetic sight; disheveled hair, rumpled clothes and shoes only halfway off, but Rebecca knew just how hard the other woman worked. She had tried, once, to stay up with her. The last thing she remembered was James' concerned expression on day four before waking up a day later, Contessa herself managing to soldier through another three before crashing. She had never repeated the attempt.  
  
Rebecca tapped softly against the doorframe as she nudged the door open, then floated across the room, setting one of the glasses down so that Contessa would notice it before finally settling down on the other side of the mattress. The bed creaked softly as she let the springs take her weight instead of her open defiance of physical laws, then took the hand closest to her, thumb absently rubbing small circles across the pale skin, slowly becoming lost in the familiar contours of vessels and tendons.  
  
The slow repetition was eventually enough to draw Contessa back to reality, and she turned slightly towards Rebecca. What little of her expression Rebecca was able to see lit up with equal parts joy and exhaustion as she rolled over. "Hey," Contessa whispered, "'m glad to see you."  
  
"Hey yourself," Rebecca replied, knowing for sure that there was a similar expression painted on her own face, "have you been here long?"  
  
"Jus' a few minutes."  
  
"I'll just be a few minutes more then," Rebecca said, giving the hand a quick squeeze, "so get out of those clothes, okay? There's water just there for you as well, all right?"  
  
"Mm, you're the best," Contessa said, before rolling back over and starting to more purposefully pull her way out of her clothes.  
  
Rebecca left her to it, hopping up and over to the bathroom to complete her own routine. Entirely cosmetic glasses went into their case on the counter, and she brushed her teeth with one hand as she reached for her necklace and fiddled with the fob on the back of it. It didn't feel any different, but the visible change of the inset from sapphire to ruby signalled its deactivation, and she set it in the charging case on the counter with a hand that was flush with the firmness of youth. Suddenly there was a woman ten years younger staring back at her, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and reaching up for the container of eye drops.  
  
The closest sensation she could liken it to was of some sort of grease, or of containment foam. It was far stickier than was really comfortable in her eye socket, and a few hard blinks don't quite manage to clear away the sensation. She still had to wipe away an oily droplet that had dribbled into the scar scratched across her cheek.  
  
Deception after deception fell away from her, a monstrous worm shedding skin after skin, and Rebecca lets herself wonder, just for a moment, if she'll ever be entirely free of them, free to be just Rebecca.  
  
But-  
  
She shook her head, shelving the thought as she finished up; rinsing her mouth and putting out the light. She remembered the position of every piece of furniture and every fitting, and was in no danger of tripping over anything laying across the floor. She could have done it with her eyes closed, but the specks and slivers of ambient city light made that unnecessary.  
  
They also let her see Contessa's shape, already huddled beneath the sheets.  
  
Still, she took extra care as she climbed in beside Contessa, deliberate so as not to disturb her. The Thinker's implants might have made it so that she didn't need a human amount of sleep but, when they did demand that she sleep, they tended to be absolutely punishing.  
  
Rebecca, though, was inexplicably restless; utterly exhausted yet unable to sleep. She felt achingly tired, and so the thought of lying awake all night, restless, had her ready to get up and do some work. That or die.  
  
Mercifully, she was saved from having to choose either when a pair of strong arms slipped around her and a nose rubbed against the top of her head. Rebecca almost protested but Contessa was long gone from the world; her breathing deep into its sleeping rhythm.  
  
Rebecca sighed. There was no hope of escape then. There was nothing more she could do from her position, and even though her mind continued to whir there was precious little to do beyond pointlessly spinning her own wheels.  
  
With no work available, no morbid arithmetic of human lives to calculate, Rebecca allowed her eyes to fall closed and focused on the beating of her partner's heart; unhurried, restful.  
  
Beautiful.

  
//////////////////////

  
When Rebecca woke up, it was to the rising hiss of the coffee machine and sunlight streaming in between the curtains.She didn't remember falling asleep, but she had obviously managed it at some reasonable hour, given that she felt entirely rested and absurdly wholesome, and she spent an indulgent minute just luxuriating in the warmth of the bed.  
  
Habit had made a slave of her though, and it wasn't long before she forced herself out of bed, shrugging on a dressing gown and bobbing lazily into the main room.  
  
There was Contessa, mug of steaming coffee in one hand and perched on one of the stools by the counter, not a hair out of place as she lounged in the sun. The beautiful sight greeting her never failed to make Rebecca self-conscious of her no-doubt appalling bed hair but Contessa's smile, and the cup of proffered coffee, kept her from fleeing to find a brush.  
  
Conversation between the two of them is sparse, but not uncomfortably so. They sit together over coffee, picking at breakfast. As the morning progressed, Contessa produced a pen and picked up the newspaper lying on the table, setting herself upon the cryptic crossword with grim determination. Rebecca watched her progress play out on her face; the corners of her mouth picking up at a revelation, and the tight lines of puzzlement a familiar sight. She could watch Contessa for hours, and had in the past, but today bustled around the apartment, quietly doing the small jobs that had piled up over the week.  
  
By the time Contessa stood, the sun had crept across the room to the base of the wall, and Rebecca felt overcome with the idea that she was leaving too soon. The thought was a selfish one, seeing as how Contessa was perfectly willing to spend all of her very limited free time there with her, but knowing that still didn’t make it any easier to shake the idea.  
  
While Contessa stepped into the bedroom to retrieve her jacket and gun, Rebecca moved the fridge aside one-handed, reaching around the back to grab her costume out of it's hiding place. The fridge was bought for the fact that it looked as though it had been a tank in a past life and, beyond an imprint of her fingers at the base, had yet to seriously suffer from being repeatedly manhandled around the room. She set it back down gently and took the costume into the sitting room, the robe she was wearing falling to the floor in a heap.  
  
Rebecca had just pulled up the leggings when she heard the bedroom door open again, and watched from the corner of her eye as Contessa's cheeks turned a very satisfying red. She didn't break eye contact as she pulled the bodysuit up the rest of the way, watching the way Contessa's eyes roved across the muscles of her back. Her throat bobbed up and down helplessly, and Rebecca didn't bother hiding her grin as she turned to properly face her. Contessa's arms met at the small of her back, an inch below the place where the seam of her bodysuits hung open and Rebecca let herself smile into the space between them at the sensation of wandering fingertips, just on the verge of tickling.  
  
If Rebecca lifted herself off the floor a little bit to more easily put her arms around the taller woman, well, nobody needed to know.  
"I'll see you next time, yeah?"  
  
"Mmm," she said, and Rebecca must have properly pole-axed her because her accent pushed through, "next time."  
  
"Soon?" she asked, the prompt slipping easily from mouth to mouth.  
  
Anybody else would most likely have missed the look that passed across her face, but not Rebecca. That she looked away and didn't answer was helplessly telling, but Contessa had been a terrible liar for as long as they had known one another.  
  
Rebecca thought her face might have fallen a fraction as she pulled away, sinking back and gently tugging Contessa's hands apart, but there was nothing to be done for it. "Stay safe then, alright?"  
  
"Of course," she said, more earnest now that she was back in easier territory. "I'll come again as soon as I can."  
  
It sounded like a platitude. It certainly  _felt_ like a platitude. So she just nodded in response, picking up her helmet from where it lay on the table beside the morning paper and two empty cups of coffee.  
  
But before she could go off in search of her cape, another pair of arms slid around her neck and fastened it, expert fingers finding the clasps without having to search for them. The ruff of fur across the back of her neck was dark, subdued, and sat easily across her shoulders. It rustled softly at the other body moving across it, and Rebecca relaxed minutely in spite of herself, to the point that she almost reached out when Contessa stepped away again.  
  
She was going to leave, then. But some- some premonition, an entirely irrational what-if, struck her in a flash and she-  
  
She had Contessa's hand between her own before she could process what she had done, the sound of the helmet clattering to the floor the only sign of a world outside. The city beyond the window disappeared in an instant and the two of them were alone.  
  
"I-" all of a sudden she was lost for words, uncomfortably tongue-tied, and paralysed by the sudden intensity of Contessa's gaze and the sensation of her fluttering pulse. She swallowed once, eyes falling to where their hands were joined, swallowed again and looked up. "You... you know I love you, r-right?" she asked, instantly aware that the tips of her ears were heating up. A stutter! Her!  
  
Contessa shifted, the floorboards creaking as she stepped forward. Her fingers danced between Rebecca's until they were entwined, palm to palm, and her other hand came to her cheek, softly beckoning that she lift her head. An instant of honest communication passed between them, and then they were caught together in a kiss. Contessa had been the one to initiate -that was what they agreed- and Rebecca finally felt herself melt, an aching tension she had barely been aware of releasing at last.  
  
"I know," said Contessa, bubbling up into a happy laugh between the two of them once they had separated, "of course I know. God, how could I not?"  
  
"I just-" Rebecca was mortified to feel herself start to blush again, but found herself silenced by slim fingers across her lips.  
  
"You tell me with the things that you do, and the person you are. So I don't need big, flashy declarations, those aren't who you are. You're thoughtful and kind, and when it's like last night I don't have to ask because you just  _know_. You're the strongest person I've ever met and I love you as you are, nothing will ever change that."  
  
Their lips brushed against each other. Then again, more deliberately. And again before Contessa pulled back, laughing, as she craned her neck to where Rebecca had unconsciously risen to, a broad smile across her face.  
  
"The only thing I need is you," she declared, giving Rebecca's hand one last squeeze before pulling away, "so believe me when I say I'll come back to you as soon as I can. I promise."  
  
Rebecca nodded, feeling lighter then than she had in weeks. "Yeah," she said, "promise."

**Author's Note:**

> There is maybe one straight person in all of Cauldron fight me.


End file.
